


Late Nights

by viatorix



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Smut, neck love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viatorix/pseuds/viatorix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khadgar is trying to focus, but it's hard to focus when your lover insists on playing with your neck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Nights

Khadgar huffed in frustration as he turned the page, long worn by age and creased by careless hands. The text was already hard to read, never mind that the ink had been blotched by substances of various suspicious natures. An etching, once clean and delicate, was now a faded, blurred mess. An etching, Khadgar noted with a spike of annoyance, that would have done well to show an example of the complicated magical theory on the previous sad, shoddy page. Still, it was best to try with what he had. Medivh wouldn’t have kept it if it was not important. Then again, Khadgar thought with conjecture, the previous Guardian had probably forgotten he had owned it. The mage eyed the stain again. He hoped Medivh had gotten this second-hand.

Mindlessly, he reignited the candle that had died in the breeze that swept in through the open window, returning the room to a warm, soft glow. _Maybe if I just_.... He turned the book sideways to try and get a better look at the image. No, that didn’t help. Now, it just looked like a particularly fat duck.

“Hmrph.” It was no use. The etching was too warped to make any sense. Plus, now it _still_ looked like a fat duck even as he righted the book with indignation. He may as well move onto the next part, as useful as arcane structural manipulation would have been. _Damn it all_.

So caught up in deciphering the lines of text, Khadgar did not hear them when they approached: footsteps on the granite tiles from hard soled, leather boots. The steps were light, purposefully so, as the wearer attempted to creep up to his place at the desk. It worked, for the mage didn’t stir from his hunched position; knuckles pushed to his temple to relieve the mounting strain in his eyes.

 _So much has come up_ , Khadgar ruminated as he used his other hand to trail along the precise, stamped script where it was legible. The Orcs were still around; far more spread out than they had been previously, and they still raided the remaining villages near the Black Morass, but now they roamed further out into Duskwood and even into Redridge. Not that Khadgar had, had much to do with personally dealing with the encroachers, but he had been given some of the talismans collected from the bodies which reeked of Fel. It was only when confronted with these, did he realise his own arcane knowledge was woefully inadequate, despite his ability to blast someone across a room (which was extremely useful, thank you very much).  

A wisp of feeling glided across the nape of his neck, but still Khadgar continued to read, unaware of the world outside his own mind as the events of the past few months replayed themselves in a vivid fashion, capturing the man’s attention completely. 

It was only when the pad of a foreign thumb gently pressed and rubbed the skin of his neck behind an ear, did Khadgar become keenly aware that he was not alone. The fingers came next; curling around his nape, fingernails lightly scraping, to drag through the soft, downy hairs at the base of his skull. They played with the strands, swirling and pressing in a way which reached the tender muscles underneath. 

 _Lothar._  

Khadgar was tempted to hum as the digits continued their practiced ministrations; digging in, but never too hard. Pulling, but never in a way that made the mage recoil and hiss in pain. He shivered at the sudden heat radiating out from the body behind him as he leaned close to Khadgar, his breath hot on his ear. 

“And what are you doing up this late?” Lothar asked.

“I could say the same to you,” the mage bit back, in a futile attempt to reign in his heart that had started an erratic tempo. He should be used to this by now. He never was.

“ _I_ ” Lothar dragged the vowel out, drawing close enough that his thick beard joined his hand in teasing Khadgar’s neck. The mage breathed through his nose. _In and out. In and out._ Whoever knew that his neck could be so damned sensitive? Lothar knew, of course. And had discovered it quickly, exploiting it for all it was worth. It didn’t help that the warrior was naturally inclined toward careless touching. “Was out visiting some old friends,” he continued. “Socialising. Having fun. _You_ ,” he drew the word out again, accusing, but lacking any sting to it. “Are up here alone. Studying, and miserable.”

“I’m having fun.” Khadgar could feel the incredulous stare. “I _am._ ” 

“Is that why I heard you cursing under your breath before, and why you look at the book like it insulted your manhood? Interesting definition of fun.”

Khadgar sighed, defeated. The sad, crumbling book stared back at him as he considered the pages. Lothar was right. Fun was not a word he would use to describe decoding muddled images and stained text. This was only frustrating, if anything. 

“I’m not tired,” he said at last, giving the only excuse he had to be awake at this hour. Outside the window, the two moons had already started to recede from their zeniths; sinking low like a great pair of eyes silently judging him. It was late. Early? Khadgar didn’t think it mattered at this point. 

“Is that so?” Lothar asked, amusement colouring his voice. “Well then,” he said, as he descended on Khadgar’s neck, “you won’t be tired enough for this.”

The mage tried not to loudly groan as Lothar’s lips pressed flush against the knobs of his spine. A poor attempt, for a whimper escaped anyway, and only encouraged the other man to mouth at the peaking bone. The fingers had not stopped their pressing, and they continued on as if Khadgar’s nape were an instrument that Lothar was particularly adept at playing. 

He shouldn’t. Lothar should wait until morning and leave Khadgar to resume his study. _This could wait, the fate of Azeroth could not_ , Khadgar told himself as Lothar began to tease with a light scrape of teeth. He looked to the stained pages once again. Oh, who was he kidding? Azeroth could wait until morning at least. With a little bit of guilt the mage closed the book, and Lothar let out a small noise of victory.  

“Some time in the future,” Khadgar said as he closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, providing the greedy man with more access to his reward. “When I have Orcs bearing down on me, and I think to myself ‘I could have really used that knowledge on arcane prisons right now,’ I am going to blame you.”

Lothar chuckled. The vibration was pleasant against his skin. “Is that what that smeared mess was about? I think I can handle it.” 

“You’re going to regret it.”

“I’ll survive.”

Truly out of excuses, Khadgar let the other man pull at his shirt, exposing a shoulder to kiss and gently nip. The mage surrendered himself to the sensation, breathing steadily as his cock twitched at the show of affection Lothar lathered on him, which was also muddied with something deeper. Khadgar gasped when Lothar suddenly bit down and sucked, combining pleasantness with pain in a way that was sure to leave a mark. It was only just recently that the prior redness had faded, and now the warrior was adamant to replace them. Suddenly thick hands had found their way over the back of his seat and begun to tap his sides, demanding that he get up and away from his pathetic attempt at studying. 

“ _Fine,”_ he said, caving to his relentless lover. Say what you would about Lothar’s brute force tactics, but the man could also be admirably manipulative. Or perhaps just annoyingly persistent.

Khadgar flipped the book’s cover close before giving in and letting himself be hurried from the desk to the strewn sheets of his bed. Lothar remained attached to him as they went, stumbling a step when their feet tangled in their haste. 

Pushed back on the bed, the warrior quickly rid Khadgar of his clothes. The mage had only just stripped off his shirt when there were hands tugging at the tie of his breeches, utterly heedless in the way the hands pressed and fondled the hardening flesh underneath. Although, looking up at the other man, perhaps Lothar was well aware of how his digits strayed. Khadgar grit his teeth in attempt to refrain from becoming too excited too quickly and ending this romp before it had even to truly begun.

Naked and on display before him, Khadgar watched as Lothar drunk in the sight. Khadgar was no warrior, that much was obvious. Though he wouldn’t consider himself weak, and could generally keep up when he was needed in the field, he of course lacked the raw strength of a man that swung a sword and shield around for most of the day. Yet Lothar didn’t seem bothered that the mage’s belly tended toward softness than iron hardness, nor did he seem to mind that the width of Khadgar’s arms were barely half the size of his own. Khadgar was, well… _normal_ . Average. And though he was a _good_ mage, there were many out there who were _better._ Yet Lothar, who, for all intents and purposes, tended to align himself with the extraordinary, still seemed interested in him. And that, he found, was… _pleasing._ So few people gave Khadgar the time of day, and never before in this manner. It was _nice_ to be wanted. 

And it was nice to want. He continued to stare; pushed up on his elbows, and feeling himself become harder as Lothar hurriedly rid himself of his own clothes; dropping his belt with his pants and quickly throwing off the vest with his shirt. Khadgar allowed himself to admire in turn: the thickly corded muscle; the scars, and the smattering of hair covering his chest, not to mention the length that hung between his legs, already full-mast. 

Khadgar inhaled a shaky breath and awkwardly moved to the drawer to fetch the bottle of oil. Suddenly feeling a large hand on his ankle once he had the lubricant, he looked down to find Lothar kneeling on the edge of the mattress, staring at the mage in a way that went straight to Khadgar’s cock. He watched, jaw loose, little bottle warming in his palm, as the other man leaned to kiss his bare ankle. There was a brief press of lips and the scrape of beard against the bone before Lothar’s hot mouth moved an inch higher, taking the time to gently nip the tendon at the back of his heel. Up, and up he went, achingly slowly. By the time his teeth grazed the underside of Khadgar’s knee, the mage was steadily leaking pre-cum, having a hard time breathing, and fed up with Lothar’s pace. Not even magic took this much concentration to contain himself. Especially when the warrior had gotten a hold of Khadgar’s hips, the tips of his fingers digging into the flesh, and pressed his mouth to an inner thigh. He left behind a redness where he went, sucking until it almost hurt just to make sure there would be a trail to follow next time. _Light,_ Khadgar thought to himself, _if he does this again I may explode._ He was not a patient man, and Lothar’s pace seemed to be slowing. There was not a doubt in his mind that Khadgar would last this torture. 

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, he hooked his free leg around the small of Lothar’s back, breaking his grip. He pressed his heel in insistently, tugging the other man forward and upward.

“Get _in_. Now.” Khadgar, struggling, bit the words out, barely holding himself together.

The other man chuckled, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He raised an eyebrow, looking ridiculous from his position between Khadgar’s thighs. “Please?”

“Anduin. _Please_.” 

He shrugged. “If you insist,” he said, and moved instead toward Khadgar’s cock. He gave the tip a playful lick before relenting to the order. Electricity threatened to race along Khadgar’s nerves but he persisted his restraint, alternatively releasing a string of curses. Lothar captured most of them in a kiss, his hands dragging up the mage’s side, pressing and squeezing,  just as he had done to the muscles in Khadgar’s neck. 

Taking the bottle of oil from the mage’s limp hand, he uncorked it with his teeth, and spilled a copious amount onto his fingers. Khadgar, laying back, focused on his breathing as the other man did their routine preparation with his digits, occasionally stroking Khadgar’s thigh when a noise escaped the mage’s throat -- which was often. It didn’t seem to matter how many times they had done this before. He may have been able to restrain himself from coming, but the whimpers and moans were far harder to control. It didn’t help that Lothar only encouraged them by sucking at his neck. 

“Ready?” Lothar asked, rumbling in Khadgar’s ear as he lathered his cock. The mage could only nod, and continue to press insistently at the warrior’s back. Khadgar gasped as the other man eased in, achingly slow, drawing it out. He allowed Khadgar the time to adjust and enjoy the feeling of being full before he began to move. Khadgar could feel the tension in Lothar’s shoulders as he rolled his hips. _He’s holding back,_ he thought absently as pleasure began a course through his lower half. Why was he holding back? For Khadgar’s sake? They had done this enough times by now that they knew each other's bodies as well as their own.  

Khadgar wrapped his other leg around Lothar’s waist, taking matters into his own hands. He dragged him as close as he was able, letting out a groan as his cock became pressed between them. “Let go,” he urged. 

The tension eased a fraction and the warrior jerked as if he also lost his grip on himself. But it was over quickly, and, like Khadgar, Lothar forced himself into submission. The man kissed him as they rocked, and sent a particularly powerful thrust that left Khadgar gasping. “Only if _you_ do,” he growled. 

 _But…_ Lothar fixed him with a look, and finally, Khadgar nodded. He sunk back into the bedding, exposing his neck as he let himself _feel._ The warrior’s thrusts became quick and rough. Whatever noise came from Khadgar, the mage let him have it -- the moans, and whimpers, and even the occasional gasping squeak of surprise when Lothar’s cock found the spot that made his vision turn white. It was those that made Lothar’s hips erratically jerk in his motion, and it was those that incited the other man to roll his hips deeply; eager to find the spot once again.  

The friction between their bellies pushed Khadgar closer and closer to the edge as it rubbed his cock. The heat that pooled in his gut only grew in intensity, and that tell-tale tightness was beginning to mount. “Anduin,” he gasped. “Anduin, I’m going to finish.”

Lothar looked down between them, and, with a calloused hand, grasped Khadgar’s length, fingers still slick with oil. The man’s touched was like fire, and the mage yelped in pleasure when Lothar slipped his thumb over the head. “So finish,” he said simply with a grin.

A few more languid strokes and Khadgar could no longer contain himself. The heat had become overbearing. With a broken cry, he came, Lothar’s teeth on his throat. It wasn’t long until Lothar succumbed to the feeling too. The other man followed barely a minute after, taking advantage of Khadgar’s boneless state. He hissed when Khadgar clenched around him, feeling bold and recovered enough to provoke the Lion into giving into the same warm, pleasant void. With another jerk, Lothar was undone, his brow drawn and lips pulled back with a ferocity that made Khadgar shiver.

Lothar unwound the mage’s legs before he collapsed to the side, utterly spent. The exhaustion of staying up so late finally started to sink its fingers into the both of them as they lay in the shifting light of the moons, candles long extinguished. The cool, settling silence was marred by heavy puffs of breath. Khadgar came back to himself first, shifting on the pillow to turn his head to the man laid beside him. 

“That. That was good,” Khadgar stuttered, his ability to speak making a jumbled return. Lothar only laughed and tucked the smaller mage into his side. Khadgar hummed. The heat radiating of the man was enough to slide the mage’s eyes closed completely without permission. 

“Sleep, spell-chucker,” Lothar whispered, playing his fingers gently across the skin of Khadgar’s belly. It was soothing rather than ticklish. “There’s plenty of time to study whenever.”

“No there isn’t, we need to be prepared,” Khadgar said. Tried to say. But his drowsiness had left the words a mumbled mess. He felt a press of lips to his temple and a hand stroking his hair before he fell asleep; Medivh’s tattered book the furthest thing from his mind.


End file.
